Chasing Phantoms
by KennedyoftheSouth
Summary: Intertwined with the plot of "Inglourious Basterds" is a tale of sorrow, vengeance, and love. Daphne Lalaurie, a tragic woman plagued with her inner demons, finds herself on a path of vengeance against Hitler's forces. One fateful day she meets Donny Donowitz and forever they are linked in love and revenge. Rated T for violence, disturbing images, and some sexuality.
1. Chapter 1

****_Fondest regards to you all, my readers! I am so happy to be sharing "Chasing Phantoms" with you, I've been a long time fan of "Inglourious Basterds" and have always wanted to attempt a fanfic. This is my second fanfic and my second publication (check out my Avengers/Greek Mythology crossover 'Avenging Olympus'). I hope you enjoy and please do not hesitate to review, your feedback is important to me. Without further ado, I am proud to present "Chasing Phantoms"!_

**Once upon a time, in Nazi occupied France…**

The sharp scent of smoke mingled with the lazy morning breeze that wafted through the French countryside. Jean Montmartre halted his chore of splitting logs to glance up and survey the serene farmlands that surrounded his village. The sun was just rising over the horizon, the sky a fiery masterpiece of color. Mist rose from the dew covered grass, the sun piercing its veil to make the droplets on the grass sparkle like diamonds. Jean's dark eyes narrowed, focusing on a plume of smoke rising in the distance; black twisted fingers trailing across the vibrant sky. Jean swiped the trickling sweat from his brow, coughing absently as more smoke wafted over him with the breeze. A rapport of gunfire echoed across the hills, followed by the lilting wail of a distant scream. Jean's brow furrowed as he scanned the tree line, his eyes growing wide as he beheld a line of men winding amidst the shadows of the oaks. Gray uniforms betrayed them. Shouldering his ax, Jean sprinted from the small grove he had been in and leapt onto the broad back of his horse. Glancing one final time at the steady stream of soldiers, he dug his heels into the horse's side and made for the village of Verte Branche at a desperate gallop. As he neared the town, a pair of dairy farmers rushed out of their sheds.

"German soldiers!" Jean called, "Spread the word!"

The men bolted off, knocking on doors and calling over fences; Jean reined his mount through the center street, scattering cats and dairy goats. In the distance, the Lalaurie manor stood watch over the village; its dark shadow falling over the farmland like the silhouette of some angry god. Jean's stallion's hooves clattered over the cobblestone drive; a face appeared in the window. Jean swung off the horse's sweaty back and bounded up the front stoop to the regal door of the manor. The master of the house, Jacque Lalaurie, stepped onto the porch, regarding his visitor with wary eyes.

"Jean. I am surprised to see you. Daphne is upstairs, should I go fetch her?"

"No, Monsieur Lalaurie." Jean tried to slow his rushed breathing, "You must get out of here. Clear out the home. German soldiers."

The elegant man spun on his heel, gesturing for the young farmer to follow. Jean stepped into the cool darkness of the manor's foyer, all around him nervous eyes glanced up from sorrowful faces.

"Monsieur Lalaurie, where is Daphne?" Jean inquired.

"She's in her room, boy." Monsieur Lalaurie set to work helping the Jewish refugees to pack their things, speaking with an eerie calm in his voice. "You must go now, try to escape across the meadow. Run and do not look back."

Jean paused at the base of the grand staircase. Forty-six Jewish men, women, and children had sought sanctuary within the walls of this grand house, for so long it had been the only place safe from the murderous clutches of Colonel Hans Landa and the German army. Until today. Pushing those dark thoughts away, Jean rushed up the stairs to his betrothed. The loud crash of shattering glass echoed in the west wing of the house. Jean raced down the hall, the Oriental rug swallowing his heavy footfalls.

"Daphne!" He called out, "Daphne, mon cherie, are you alright?"

Jean threw the door to her chambers open to find the slight form of his lover and promised, Daphne, hunched over a shattered crystal vase. At her feet, the delicate blue rug was stained with scarlet.

"Daphne?" Jean ventured tentatively.

She gasped and whipped about to face him, as if ripped from a trance. Blood dripped over her fingers from a nasty array of gashes on her palm. With a sigh Jean stepped forward, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. He knelt before her, assessing the scattered pieces of the vase, several of which were speckled with red.

"Did you break that vase, Daphne?" Jean whispered gently, looking up into her face.

Daphne stared blankly out the window.

Jean looked again to her hand, tenderly removing tiny shards of glass from the wound. "You've got to be more careful, bijou."

"I'm sorry. I did not know it would cut me." Daphne's voice was hollow and distant.

Jean pursed his lips in thought, before softly kissing Daphne's wrist. He stood and wrapped his arms around her, feeling her body melt into his as the tears finally came. Jean buried his face in her wild mane of raven curls as she sobbed against his shirt. Daphne was "fille ensorcelee de la nuit", a bewitched child of the night. She was always… stirring. Seeing and hearing things that were not there, doing things that could not be explained. Jean had loved her from the moment he had first seen her. A pale beauty, with a face carved by Aphrodite herself; Monsieur Lalaurie had seen her educated at the finest schools in Paris. She had learned to dance and play music, of languages and literature. Daphne Lalaurie was molded in the manner befitting a French noblewoman, but she was, nonetheless, haunted by the demons of her mind. Jean stroked her back as her sobs quieted; she seemed so small and delicate in his arms.

Daphne snuggled against Jean's strong chest, feeling safe in his arms. She tiptoed her fingers over his stomach, up to his shoulder. Men are so big and strong, how did they not scare themselves with their own power?

Daphne kissed Jean's shoulder and neck, smiling against his skin. "You could break me in half, mon ami."

Jean's chuckle echoed deep in his chest, "I could never hurt you, Daphne. You are my heart."

Daphne grinned and pressed her ear to his chest, hearing the murmur of his voice dance to the drum of his heartbeat. The smiled melted away from her face.

"Jean, why would you want to marry me?"

"What do you mean, Daphne?"

Her voice was steady, "Because, Jean, despite my fortune and my education. I am not worthy of your trust. I can barely be left to my own designs without causing some sort of uproar. Not a good wife for a gentle man like you."

Jean cupped her delicate face in his hand, stroking her cheeks as he lifted her chin to look him in the face. "I know, Daphne. You are tortured. I do not know why. But, I love you and want to protect you from all things, including yourself."

Daphne leaned in and kissed him gently. She felt his arms lock around her tightly; Daphne raked her fingers through his dark hair. Here she would always be safe. Jean broke the kiss and looked into her misty grey eyes. Eyes the color of smoke. Reality came crashing back down; Jean gripped Daphne's shoulders, leaning in close to make sure he was understood.

"Daphne, Landa and his men are on their way. I need you to get far away from here."

Daphne's eyes widened with horror as Jean grabbed her by the arm and roughly led her out of the room. "What about my father?"

"He and I are going to cover the manor, while these people escape." Jean gestured over the railing where the house was a hive of activity. "They are fleeing across the meadow."

"Should I go with them?" Daphne asked, clinging to Jean in fear.

"No!" Jean snapped, spinning her to face him, "You go to the trees."

The pair wound through the horde of people and exited the manor. Jean pulled Daphne down the steps of the manor towards the hitch where his mount was tied. The big black horse lifted his head, nickering a friendly hello to his master. Jean lifted Daphne onto the stallion's wide back, gripping her hand tightly.

"Listen to me, Daphne. Ride for the woods. Don't look back and don't stop. You don't come back here until all is quiet, do you understand?" Jean's voice was hard, his eyes were desperate.

Tears slid down Daphne's face, but she nodded her head.

Jean pulled her face down to his, kissing her hard, squeezing her thigh almost too tightly. A whimper escaped Daphne's lips.

"Jean, what's going to happen to you?"

Jean broke the kiss but did not pull away, his breathing heavy as he pressed his forehead to hers, "I'm needed here. Don't worry, we'll find each other again."

Daphne's voice was heavy with tears, "Jean, I'm scared."

Jean's coffee colored eyes scanned her face. Memorizing every line, the curve of her lip, that shocking gray of her eyes. A lump caught in his throat, but he quickly swallowed it, smiling benevolently.

He patted the ebony rump of the large draught horse, "This is Ghost. He'll take care of you." Jean moved to the stallion's bridle, turning his head for Daphne to see, "Look he has one blue eye and one brown, which means he sees both angels and demons. He can keep an eye out."

Daphne laughed, "That's just superstition."

Jean raised an eyebrow in mock surprise, "Hey, you won't be laughing when Ghost warns you that the Devil himself is coming." Jean pointed down, "Now look at his feet. He's got three white stockings and one black one."

"Doesn't that mean that he's a mount for evil?" Daphne smirked.

Jean furrowed his brow, "Maybe. But I think that's what makes him so steady in the night. He never stumbles or spooks. He's quiet."

Ghost tossed his head and stomped his hooves impatiently. Jean stared up into Daphne's face, trying to find the words to say. A gunshot rang out and the shouts of men and the splintering of wood filled the air. Jean grabbed Daphne's face and kissed her again.

"Remember, my love, don't look back. I love you." Jean slapped Ghost's haunch and the stallion bolted away, Daphne clinging to the reins for dear life.

Jean watched her ride away, tears shining in his eyes. Monsieur Lalaurie stepped onto the porch, two large rifles in his hands. He tossed one to Jean, shouldering the other. The two men turned and made for the village without another word.

Daphne watched the ground as it raced by, swallowed up by Ghost's long strides. The distant forest was growing closer, dark and foreboding. A deep ache burned in Daphne's chest; she didn't want to ride away, she wanted to stay with Jean. Everything in her body screamed for her to turn around and ride back to him. Daphne glanced to her left, watching the steady line of refugees pour from the back door of her lovely home. They ran in clumps of four or five across the field, burdened with what few belongings they had. They were fleeing just as she was, hell bent on some destination unknown to her. The crack of a gunshot echoed, one of the fleeing shadows fell. Another shot, another dead. Daphne watched in horror as the stream of people grew thinner, more and more falling. The others began to toss their belongings, dashing like panicked sheep across the field. More shots, more men and women fell. Spurred by her own fear, Daphne bent low over Ghost's neck, whipping the reins back and forth across his withers to urge him on faster. The world rushed by in a blur. Daphne closed her eyes, and lay her head against Ghost's sweating neck. Gunshots and screams mingled with the fast drum of Ghost's hooves. Shadows passed and then there was darkness. Daphne opened her eyes, surprised by the darkness of the trees that rushed by. She pulled Ghost to a slow walk, his labored breathing the only sound. Daphne looked over her shoulder and wondered if it was all over. Two gunshots, followed by a woman's cry assured her it was only just beginning. Daphne looked ahead at the labyrinth of trees before her; all she could do now was walk on and wait.

**Meanwhile across the Atlantic…**

"Every man under my command owes me one hundred Nazi scalps! And I want my scalps!"

The small band of soldiers that had come to call themselves the "Basterds" stood at attention. But the grins on their faces and the ferocious light in their eyes betrayed their bloodlust. This was the team the Lieutenant had been waiting for. He nodded to his associate.

"At ease!" Sergeant Donny Donowitz boomed.

Lieutenant Aldo Raine turned to his trusted friend and fellow soldier, "Donny, are you ready to go across the big water?"

"Oh yeah." Sergeant Donowitz quipped with a wide grin, "I been waitin' for a chance to get my hands on the fuckers."

Aldo smiled, turning on his heel to go back into the warehouse he called their home base. Donny was right on his heels. Aldo surveyed the map that lay across a large table, chewing on his bottom lip as he thought.

"Right there." He muttered, more to himself than to Donny. "That's where the Basterds are gonna see some action."

Donny's eyes went to where Lieutenant Raine's finger was pointing. France. Donny felt a stirring somewhere deep in his gut. It was a stirring he had only ever had felt twice. The first time, was when he had gone up to bat for the Boston minor leagues. The second time had been when, in a drunken rage, he'd killed a man last October.


	2. Chapter 2

****_Hey readers! I really need your help! I've got mixed emotions on how I feel about this story. I know where I want it to go, but I'm not sure if it's worth it. Please review and tell me if you like it and want to see more! _

**In the woods beyond Verte Branche…**

Gripping Ghost's bridle tightly in her hand, Daphne inched closer to the edge of the forest. In the distance she could see the roof of the manor, beyond the house inky black clouds of smoke billowed against a dismal gray sky. Daphne cocked her head to listen. The world had fallen silent; all but Ghost's steady breathing.

Daphne absently stroked the stallion's neck. "He said wait for quiet."

She paused to listen a moment longer before swinging up into the saddle. Ghost started forward with slow lumbering steps. Daphne listened to the way his hooves swished through the tall grass, smiling to herself. Jean was right, he was quiet. The evening breeze brushed through Daphne's hair, she nearly gagged on the smell. Decay, blood, and smoked mingled together in the wind. Daphne turned her head to escape the breeze and found herself looking over a field of death. Bodies were strewn across the meadow, pocked with bullet holes. The ground was wet with blood. Daphne collapsed over Ghost's side and vomited into the grass, closing her eyes in a vain attempt to erase what she had just seen. The sway of Ghost as he pranced impatiently tore Daphne out of that temporary sanctuary. Resolutely she urged Ghost onward. The manor was coming into view, Daphne's heart swelled with relief. She could run to Jean and her father and let them soothe the horrors away. The view of the manor became clearer through the haze of smoke; angry red flames licked the walls of the stately home, the manor was ablaze. A desperate scream tore from Daphne's throat; Ghost reared slightly and took off at a gallop. Daphne watched in horror as the flames consumed the eastern wing of the house. She was stricken, unable to think enough to calm Ghost. As the horse clattered over the cobblestones, Daphne could just make out the form of her father collapsed on the steps of the manor, the back of his skull was gone. One thought kept racing through Daphne's muddled mind. She had to find Jean. She needed him. Suddenly her resolve returned, Daphne jerked on the reins as hard as she could. Ghost slid to a stop on the muddy ground, going up onto his hind legs. Daphne threw her arms around his neck, whispering quietly into the horse's ear. Finally the black stallion quieted his whinny to a contented snort and Daphne slowly guided him down the hill to the village of Verte Branche. Daphne's lip trembled as she absorbed the disaster around her. The village had become an inferno. House upon house was ablaze, livestock lay dead in the street. The corpses of men and dogs littered front stoops, some farmers still clutching their weapons in defiance. Two large bonfires raged in the town center. At first Daphne could not tell what they were, but then amidst the flames, she could make out faces. Daphne's jaw dropped in horror as she slowly began to recognize the boiling and charred faces as her Jewish neighbors. A sharp pain began in Daphne's temple, slowly blooming across her head, and seeping into her neck.

Daphne shook her head violently. "Stop! Please stop!"

The buzzing began in her ears; the shadows cast by the fire began to warp into the phantoms she feared so much. Daphne quickly jumped off of Ghost's back. She had to find Jean, now. Daphne bolted down the alleys and streets, calling Jean's name. The buzzing in her ears slowly gave way to disembodied voices. They were whispering and taunting, making her mind go numb. Daphne darted back into the street, tears rolling down her face as she muttered to herself. She could feel the phantoms picking around in her brain, shuffling through her memories and replacing them with odd symbols and numbers. Out of the corner of her eye, Daphne could see a familiar green shirt and in that shirt a familiar figure, slumped in the doorframe of a burning house.

"Jean!" She cried, a smile lighting up her face.

Daphne rushed to the door frame, laughing with relief and happiness. He almost looked like he was sleeping.

"Jean, my love, I thought…" Daphne froze.

A bloom of scarlet soaked the green shirt over his chest. In his hand, his ax lay limp, the handle was speckled with gore. The fire in the house had come so close that the fabric of his trousers had began to smolder. With an anguished cry, Daphne wrapped her arms around his waist, tugging frantically to move him far away from the angry flames.

"Jean. You have to stand up, you have to walk." His body was cold in her arms. "Please, Jean, please! You cannot leave me here! You cannot leave me here, oh God please!"

Sobbing and screaming, she dragged her beloved out of that doorway, collapsing onto his strong chest as they both lay in the street. Daphne gingerly pushed his shirt aside to reveal the neat round hole where the bullet had entered his heart. A small gold cross hung from a chain around his neck. Tears streaming down her cheeks, Daphne gently stroked the sides of his face, unmarred by death. His handsome features relaxed, as though any moment now he would wake up and grab her waist the way he had always done before.

"I'm sorry, my love." Daphne whispered, pressing feverish kisses to his forehead and cold lips. "I should have been here. I never should have left you."

Again the buzzing began in her ear; Daphne looked up to see the shadows moving in, figures reaching out to grab Jean's boots.

"YOU GET AWAY FROM HIM!" She screeched, lunging at the shadows.

The figures retreated, only to advance again. Daphne reached down and removed her shoe, throwing it into the shadows.

"YOU LEAVE HIM ALONE! LEAVE US ALONE!" She wailed, chasing the demons that only she could see.

With a cry, she rushed back to Jean, laying down beside him and snuggling into his bloody shoulder. He was the only one who had ever chased them away. Men were so big and strong, like her Jean had been strong. How did they not scare themselves? Daphne sat up and looked into Jean's face, then down to cross around his neck. Gingerly she reached out and unhooked the chain, sliding it around her own neck. The cross dangled low between her breasts.

Daphne reached out to caress Jean's face. "I have to go now, mon ami, but I will see you again very soon."

With one final kiss, Daphne left Jean's side and returned to where Ghost was waiting. From Ghost's back Daphne glanced again over what was left of Verte Branche, there was nothing for her here; tearfully, she galloped up the hill to the manor. Daphne stared up into the windows of her home, lit with hellish fire. Leaping down from Ghost's back, Daphne fingered the chain holding the cross. There was no question in the fog of her mind that this is what she must do. With slow deliberate steps, Daphne strode past her father's corpse and entered the burning home. All Daphne could hear was the buzzing in her ears, but for some reason this time she felt no fear. Around her, all was in flames. The wallpaper was black and peeling, her father's portrait all but consumed. Still, Daphne quietly ascended the staircase, not minding that the marble stair rail was burning hot to the touch. She entered her room as calmly as she would any other night before bed. Daphne stepped in front of her large looking glass. Hair the color of a raven's wings, eyes like smoke, skin as pale as death. That's what she looked like was death. Daphne slowly removed her simple dress, then her corset, petticoat, and stockings to stand naked. The light of the flames cast harsh shadows on her body. She was small and light, the curve of her hips subtle, her breasts more lush now that she was eighteen. The fire engulfed her room; her skin began to redden with the heat. Daphne smiled slowly. She was ready to die. She reached up to touch the cross. It was time for her to go. Daphne's smile faded as the shadows began to crawl around the sides of the mirror. Her mouth making a small "O" of surprise as the apparitions snaked all over her naked reflection tugging at her limbs. Daphne began to slap at her own arms, but nothing was pulling at her. The shadows merged together to form the image of a tall, bony figure, wearing a black hood. Daphne could not see his face, nor his body, just bony hands that raked over her reflection intimately.

"Stop it." Daphne's voice cracked. "Don't touch me, please leave me alone."

"You're not ready to die." It said darkly. "You honestly think that burning to death in this god forsaken house is going to bring you back to Jean. He's so gentle and good. The devil's got your soul."

"SHUT UP!" Daphne screeched.

"See?" It teased, "All you've got is that cross around your neck and enough anger to raise Hell on Earth. What are you going to do?"

"I don't know." Daphne whispered.

"You're going to make the fuckers suffer!" It ordered her. "You sold your soul when you walked through that door."

The phantom gestured towards the front of the house, one bony hand played with the curly strands of Daphne's hair.

"I hate you." Daphne sneered, her lip curling in disgust.

"That's all you are is hate. Hate and fear." The phantom whispered in her ear. "Why don't you go fulfill your purpose? With Jean gone, who's going to love you?"

Daphne squeezed her eyes shut, trembling with rage. "Leave me alone."

The buzzing in her ears had reached a fever pitch. Distant voices and foreign tongues swirled in Daphne's brain. Behind her eyelids the shadows danced with the flames that now licked at her naked feet.

"WHY DON'T YOU JUST DIE?!" Daphne shrieked, her eyes snapping open.

The flames leapt up around her as she threw herself into the looking glass, shattering its pristine surface. The cool calm of Daphne's desire to die gave way to a burning need to survive. Daphne scrambled for her door, the pieces of the broken mirror slicing her heels. Pushing the pain to a dark place deep inside her, Daphne burst into the fiery hallway and dashed for her father's chamber. The angry flames lunged at her as she pushed the heavy door open, causing Daphne to reel back and lose her footing. She dragged herself back to her feet, hurling her body over the flames; she bit back a scream as a tongue of fire burned her leg. At the window, she could see her father's chest. Throwing the lid open, Daphne shifted through these odd belongings. Her efforts produced a heavy traveling coat of black leather, a pair of combat boots from his days in the French service, and three large knives. Daphne threw the coat around her shoulders, the smell of leather a comfort in this Hell she was currently trapped in. A beam crashed down from the ceiling, sending a shower of embers over Daphne's coat. There was no escape. Thinking quickly, Daphne smashed the glass window panes, creating a jagged hole for her to slide through. Daphne tightened the belt of the coat around her, as she climbed onto the window sill to look out. The cobblestones below looked hard and unforgiving. Daphne tossed her boots and knives out the window, frowning as a resounding thud announced their fall.

"Better to be broken on the rocks than burned alive." Daphne muttered, easing her legs out the window.

A glint of light caught her eye. Daphne turned back to her father's chest. The reflection of the fire danced marvelously in the eyeglass of a black gas mask; another relic of her father's military service. The empty eyes of the mask seemed to see into her, into the shadows and the phantoms. In a way, the gas mask was a phantom; a dark, empty symbol of doom. Daphne could not just leave it. Another beam creaked with distress and Daphne quickly scooped up the mask and jumped out the window. Her feet hit first and with a grunt of pain she crumpled to her knees, the air knocked violently out of her. For several moments, Daphne just lay there gasping for air as the pain in her legs began to subside. Tentatively, she pushed up onto her feet; testing the bones. Nothing appeared to be broken, just a sprained ankle. Daphne straightened herself as she stood, moaning with release as the bones in her spine popped and creaked. Daphne walked over to the boots that lay on the cobblestone, hurriedly pulling them on to her feet. It was lucky that the leather had shrunk with time, there was no way they would have fit her before. Scooping up the knives, Daphne marched around the side of the house to where Ghost still waited.

"You knew I wouldn't do it, didn't you."

Ghost turned with a snort, staring at her with his blue eye. The Devil's eye, as superstition called it. Daphne thought back to what the phantom in the mirror had said about her soul.

"Maybe you do see the Devil." She muttered as she swung up onto his back.

Without another glance at her burning home, Daphne raced off into the darkness of the woods. She was not sure where she was going, but she was certain what she must do. She must find Colonel Hans Landa and all men serving the German army… and she must make them suffer as she had suffered.


End file.
